Shoot-out
We came upon this desert
Caked in fire and stale defeat,
With vultures at our side
And shovel’s waiting at our feet.
The car lies still behind us
Buried in smoke and empty scream,
We left the engine running
But we threw away our keys.
Are you ready for a shoot-out?
We can count from one to three.
Each step we count makes valleys out
Of the cracks between you and me.
Are you going to pull that trigger?
Your fingers got the itch,
Or clamber down from this red cloud
And the parapets we pitched.
Now the sun is losing patience
Striding hard across the sky,
Yet we stand as still as churches
With no patrons in our aisles.
So we hoist our tattered flags
A crude cartoon of names and crowns,
They wilt and wrap about our necks
To pull us to the ground.
Are we going to have this shoot-out?
Or are you as yellow as me.
Your shattered eyes look wide as mine
But this line is all we see.
Are we going to drop the hammer?
Is it not too late to run,
For these twin spades, at our feet laid
Mean to dig two graves, not one.
